


barley & gasoline

by FogOfWar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Biting, Bruising, Canon Universe, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, PWP, Porn, Rating: NC17, Riding, Romance, Roughness, Scratching, Smut, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FogOfWar/pseuds/FogOfWar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean groaned, a pained sound from being caught between a rock and a hard place as he felt Castiel’s lips on his sensitive neck, at his quickened pulse. They lingered there, faintly parted with the flush of warm damp breath, taking those precious moments to feel Dean’s fervent fluttering heartbeat, and his stomach sank with anxiety as he heard Sam snoring in the next room; capable of waking up and wandering to bed at any moment, but when Castiel closed those deceptively soft lips over his pulse entirely, letting him feel just the lightest graze of teeth, he was well on his way to saying fuck it and hoping for the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	barley & gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> [ **for[everythingelsegoesherethen](http://everythingelsegoesherethen.tumblr.com/) & [tumblr](http://thefogofwar.tumblr.com/post/50344648500)** ]

Flaring headlights poured into a small dark room, striping the black walls white for a brief moment before disappearing again.  
  
  
The motel bedroom is in a hush, the glowing alarm clock display on the bedside table between two twin-size beds read 4:19 AM in neon red letters. Outside room number thirteen on the single level, off-the-road motel, a lone pick-up truck motor rumbled, someone making a late check-in into this nowhere establishment in the middle of Biloxi, Mississippi. It was late autumn and the air was dry and cold. The Winchester brothers were here on a case, a strange epidemic of disappearances and a long list of clues that tipped them off that this might be something up their alley. It had been worth checking out, and the two brothers were on day 3 in this city turning over stones.

  
Dean had turned in early after playing FBI all day and was sprawled out haphazardly on a bed too small to accommodate his length. Sam was snoozing quietly in the kitchenette in the next room with his laptop still glowing against his face, having stayed up to do some further research.  
  
  
Dean rolled over onto his opposite side underneath the cheap thin comforter with its aged grandma's couch pattern, long legs whispering against the sheets as he mashed his face into the stuffy pillow. The air conditioner kicked on in the far corner, humming softly and giving the room a light cool draft that the thin blanket and single robin's egg blue sheet didn't do much to protect him from.

  
' _Air conditioner in late October? Awesome._ '

  
He groaned as his knee slid against the slick cotton and he stubbornly hugged his pillow with a bare forearm against his weary face. His sleep had already begun to fade before it even properly began simply from the fact he couldn't get warm nor comfortable enough on the cheap little mattress. Sleeping _under_   the blanket for once in his boxers like a normal person had only been part of the fifteen adjustments failed so far that he thought might help to put him out. No dice yet.  
  
  
An irritable groan was muffled by the pillow as he lifted dark lashes over burning and very tired peridot eyes. He'd managed to doze off and on, but that had been as good as it got.

  
' _So much for that._ '

  
Nothing was quite as frustrating as not being able to sleep, even when his body demanded those four precious hours. Shifting again, he rolled over on his back for the umpteenth time and stared numbly at the ceiling, keening his hearing to listen to the little rattle of something loose in the AC unit and Sam's distant snoring in the next room. He was toying with the idea of putting Sam to bed then going out to the Impala for a drive or watching Cinemax in the too-small living room when the soft whispering sound of wings interrupted his internal debate. He jerked curtly with a flail, his bed squeaking from the sudden movement as he bit his lip against a colorful swear when Castiel appeared out of the thin fucking air next to him.  
  
  
" _Dammit, Cas._ " He reeled for a moment, then berated the angel as if he were scolding a petulant child, " _No_. Whatever it is can wait. _Go away_. I need to sleep," he groaned. His heart banged like a jackhammer against the insides of his chest. The seraph merely cocked his head at him, outstandingly unphased.  
  
"My apologies," Cas announced at normal volume, though the same deadpan gravel as always. Dean pushed himself to sit upright, the thin blanket riding down around his bare waist as he hissed again. " _Shhh_! _Fuck_." He admonished and Cas turned some, looking over his shoulder to the bedroom door that stood wide open, faint light bleeding in from the just barely out of view occupied kitchenette. He looked back to Dean with an arched dark brow and then gave his hand a gentle wave, the door drawing shut on its own as if pulled by an invisible string. It closed with a click. Dean's jaws clenched as Castiel then shrugged off his long khaki overcoat.  
  
"Where have you been? Why haven't you answered me? We coulda used your help yesterday." Dean interrupted.  
  
"I've been busy," Castiel responded smoothly. He folded his trench coat neatly, sitting it on the bedside table.  
  
" _Busy_?"  
  
"Yes, Dean."  
  
Dean stared at him, irritated. "You're never too busy for us, Cas. Period." It was more of a selfish, irrationally offended demand than anything, though Castiel didn't respond to it immediately. Instead, Dean watched while the angel invited himself onto the small bed with him, one knee at a time that made the undoubtedly rusted and worn out box springs creak in protest. The hunter leaned back on a callused palm, wide green eyes flickering from Cas' knee to his face as the blue-eyed seraph crawled onto the bed with him. "The Hell you doin', Cas?" he growled under his breath as Castiel slid one of those knees over Dean's narrow pelvis, perching astride him neatly. The moon and neon driveway signs outside provided just enough pale blue and red light seeping through the slats of the blinds for him to see his utterly relaxed, if not nonchalant face. He seemed vaguely apologetic.  
  
"I'm sorry for not being here yesterday, Dean. I'm here now."  
  
  
  
Dean still wasn't used to their random trysts and the oddly formal... informality of it all. He rarely got a free moment to himself seeing as he was with Sam twenty-four-seven and his little brother didn't have the foggiest idea yet that he'd accidentally turned the celestial being into a bona fide deviant; thank God because Sam would never fuckin' let him hear the end of it. Castiel had been a virgin (which still baffled Dean's comprehension abilities - the dude was a worse case than that Twilight douche), and on that drunken evening when Dean made a _wow_ \- huge mistake - and Cas experienced just _why_ the human species was so addicted to sex, the angel had been hooked.  
  
  
Unfortunately, Cas hadn't quite yet learned the whole... proper time and place, controlling one's urges, inappropriate situations spiel that normal people went through during their teenage years; that whole 'celestial being' thing kind of got in the way of that very human lesson. He'd relinquished his tight grip over his vessel's natural responses and impulses and had been hungry to satiate the urges whenever or _wherever_ they came up - even in public. If it was just the two of 'em, Cas wouldn't hesitate to clap a hand on his shoulder and zap him into an alley or behind a coffee shop - it had gotten _insane_ between them. Probably unhealthy. Definitely unhealthy.

But Dean had been the most knowledgeable partner that Cas felt the most comfortable with because let's face it - Castiel is a prude, unlike his brothers. The hunter had tried to hook him up with women before, but he'd always ended up being a basket case of nerves and saying precisely the wrong thing, one woman after the other. Quite frankly, he sucked with women and any and all forms of social interaction.  
  
  
Dean was patient and compliant, most of the time. Other times he complained and scolded the angel for a while, but eventually gave in. It wasn't that he ever _didn't_ want him; it was just for all intents and purposes, there were some situations where it was risky or dumb timing on twenty-nine different levels, but Castiel didn't have a firm grasp of those concepts yet. There was one thing he knew for certain now though - angels were horny bastards when they dabbled in 'pleasures of the flesh'. He should have known that was just something in the water with the lot of them when Balthazar and Gabriel both had dropped some off-color comments about their _sexcapades_. At least Cas wasn't off having ménage à twelves, but _damn_ he was insatiable, and it didn't help that he didn't fucking get tired.  
  
  
This was the first time he'd dropped in since they'd been on this case, however. God only knew where he'd _been_ ; dickhead sucked at picking up the damn angel phone, but at least Dean had time to recover from the last limp he'd 'mysteriously' acquired. He tried not to ask Cas to heal him unless he absolutely had to, to either keep their activities secret or to be able to do his job.  
  
  
  
Really, he supposed he shouldn't complain (aside from the additional stress he absolutely didn't need from sneaking around when it was impossible to sneak around), but he was getting laid more frequently than he had in _years_ , and Castiel wasn't an emotional or clingy... entity. He may have gotten better about experiencing and showing human emotions, but when it came to sex, it was very basic to him. They loved each other on some field that couldn't quite be described in human vernacular, and that was enough for Castiel - the good little angel that saw sex as an act of love. Dean figured in most cases when angels got a taste of what sex _was_ , they went into it thinking it was - and should be - all about mutual love, but that became a sidelined footnote scribbled in the far corner once they became addicted. And boy, did they become addicted - which was _probably_ why it was, according to Castiel, _forbidden_. Breaking thousands of years of celibacy, though? He couldn't blame 'em.  
  
  
Dean was, for the most part, perfectly fine with all that. Castiel always did his business, cleaned up in the snap of a finger, and left with often too formal 'thank you's and a kiss to Dean's forehead that he supposed, in some way, was his unspoken proof of that (in his opinion, very misguided) love, because Cas knew 'that kinda thing' made Dean feel awkward. But their trysts were quick and they were satisfying and it let him take twenty minutes off a job for a hell of a break, even if it was strange at times.  
  
Yeah, try having sex with a horny robot whose batteries didn't run out. Definitely an interesting experience, and it didn't help he was still struggling with the morality of it all.  
  
  
  
  
Castiel ignores him for the most part and sits back on Dean's knees that are bony bumps underneath the thin tacky blanket, unbuckling his belt and unzipping the fly of his dress pants. The hunter is giving him a pissed off look. Those moonlit blue eyes glance upwards to Dean's fatigued features. "Fifteen minutes," he states simply as he lifts one knee at a time, pushing his pants down to his calves as well as the dark blue boxers he wore underneath. He was disrobed, even of dress shoes and socks within a few seconds, a brand new bottle of plain lubricant brandished from a pocket in his trousers. Dean glanced at it briefly as it sat on the blanket next to Cas' knee and he shook his head.  
  
  
Of course he came prepared. He always does.  
  
  
Cas' button down white Oxford shirt and blazer tail brushed at the tops of his lean and white parted thighs and Dean's congested, exhausted brain is swimming to catch up to the here and now as the angel is essentially bare from the waist down to his toes. In his lap. With Sammy asleep in the next room within earshot. Cas peeled his blazer off next and idly folded it as well, putting it out of the way.  
  
  
Now hang on just a minute. No... no, this was not okay.  
  
  
"Ugh. Son of a - _God dammit_ , Cas. Your timing and attention to ' _proper place_ ' needs some serious work." He complains, half-pleading, half-incredulous as Castiel pushes the blanket further down and out of the way, Dean's thighs trapped between those knees. The hunter is wearing only his plaid boxers, which makes things a bit easier. Normally he has half a dozen layers, though Cas often seems to find some sort of odd enjoyment out of 'unwrapping' Dean.  
  
  
"I'm fairly certain the bed is an appropriate place for love-making, and night time is a proper time," Cas responds too conversationally given the circumstances, missing Dean's point completely - that's just like him as always, just the way he was. It was maddening. He had _no_ sense of inflection, and things really needed to be spelled out clearly for him. But a lukewarm hand is already past the unbuttoned slit of his boxers, deft fingers wrapping around the sleeping girth of him to lure his smooth shaft out of the fold of fabric so the too-cool air of the motel room could chill against the sensitive head. The train of thought to clarify is gone before he can register it.

His thick lashes flutter slightly, deliriously with full lips falling open slightly as he feels the bass of his pulse deep in his pelvis just from Castiel touching him. The hitch in breath becomes an irritated grunt, mostly at himself and how easy he was.  
  
  
He was so fucking hopeless, like a starving dog to a piece of raw steak. He would say he was just as insatiable as Castiel, but he didn't have the angel's endless stamina. He could probably go on and on and on and on and never tire or break a sweat, but Dean was just a human. He got spongy after just a few rounds and needed a break. But more often than not, his pride got the better of him. There had been one instance where they'd had the free time to go over and over again - and Dean, being very stubborn, had ended up blacking out. Legitimately, one-hundred-percent out like a light. Castiel had been wrought with so much unwarranted guilt for days it was stupid.  
  
  
 _That's_ how crazy a sex relationship with a human and an _angel of the fucking Lord_ was; it wasn't simply fucking too much, there was something _about_ Castiel's energy or something that was too overwhelming for Dean's purely flesh and blood self. But absolutely, there had been times where Castiel had wanted him, and he wanted him back till he was shooting blanks and feeling dizzy and those orgasms _hurt_ and his skin was left an angry raw red. After that one incident however, they'd both mutually laid some very clear boundaries for each other - most specifically for Castiel to _try_ to remember that Dean, in comparison to him, was almost pathetically fragile. Cas had been cooperative, but he often was when it came to Dean's guidelines. He was very... respectful.  
  
  
It seemed like he was going to have to lay down another rule however, if these trysts were to continue.  
  
  
  
"The answer is 'no' if my little brother can just waltz right in at any minute. It's just _creepy_ , Cas. He still doesn't know," he says quietly between them, though his tone was firm and gruff and Castiel pauses, fingers lingering on the thickness of the girth that was swelling in his palm and getting hotter to the touch, despite Dean's attempt at resignation. The angel sweeps his dry bottom lip with the tip of his red tongue to wet it before he speaks lowly with placid sincerity that unnerved Dean in how scandalously sexy it was.  
  
"I understand. I'll remember that for next time. We'll be quiet." Dean wants to bark a laugh. Them ' _quiet'_. That was a good one. Those fingers cinch around the circumference of him firmly before he can protest again and Dean's breath catches in his throat once more audibly, the words dying on the back of his tongue as his pelvis gives an involuntary jerk below, bucking into the fist. He groans and Castiel shifts impossibly closer, brushing the scruff of his sharp jawline against Dean's temple, faintly parted lips lingering near the shell of the hunters' ear. His fingers release the stiffening cock briefly to come up to his lips and he drags his tongue along them to moisten them, the sound of each _suck_ and _pop_ of every digit free of those lips vivid against Dean's ear.  
  
  
Castiel's mind worked in a very computer-like fashion. He learned things by observation, learned how to do things by trying them only once, and that was lethal to the blonde beneath him because Cas had memorized Dean's weaknesses from simply observing what worked and what didn't for which desired effects and was ruthless in using them against him to really get him going. Dean liked the sounds of sex; the sloppy, graphic dissonance of skin smacking and gasping breaths, wet kisses and springs squeaking.  
  
  
Though he hadn't told Castiel this, he also liked to be scratched and bit and left with bruises but finding a woman that was rough with him and kept up with the athletics was a rare and precious gem. The closest he'd gotten to the _perfect_ sex partner was Lisa, aka Gumby Girl, and that was 'cause she was insane, being a yoga instructor who _had_ to be double-jointed. But she wasn't really _rough_ , and God help him, he wasn't a sexist that thought women were damsels in distress, but he wasn't about to be rough with a woman; they could kick the shit out of him in bed if _they_ wanted, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave a mark on a woman even if they wanted him to. It wasn't his style, being an old fashioned boy from Kansas. Women were soft and pretty and he liked to cuddle 'em and play. Not be a manhandler with them.  
  
But men...? Men was a different story. Men were competition. All testosterone and a battle for dominance like two rutting stags. He was sure there was some psychological reason for this that went back to his childhood and his relationship with his father, (but that would be _very_ long-winded).  
  
  
The brief stint of men he'd been with during the small window of confusion and "self discovery" in his youth had given him enough knowledge about how to bang a guy but generally, he wasn't about to let some dude manhandle him or be rough with him without a fight, and boy did he love the fight. He wasn't a bitch and his subordination needed to be earned, and it was nearly impossible to earn.  
  
  
Then... there was Castiel - Mr. _Good God what was this beast he created_ Castiel.  
  
He wasn't sure how he felt about him as a sex partner - well, _confused_ was a good way to describe it. Castiel's vessel was a dude of course, but he didn't think the angel itself had a gender, not that that really counted when they fucked - a dick's a dick. But for some reason he just had a hard time saying _no_ to the guy, because Dean was a complete fiend, and it briefly filled that hole to have _someone_ put their hands on him, to even... _use_ him; that top secret kink he'd never dream of voicing. There's probably a psychological reason for that too, but who has time for that?  
  
He only said no to Castiel when he absolutely had to - circumstances or his body simply not able to give any more, but he let Cas get away with being rough because firstly, Cas couldn't _help_ it. He was an angel with unfathomable strength and still kind of new to the whole _sex_ thing. He hurt him accidentally more than he did intentionally, so Dean was inclined to like it. A lot. It helped that Cas didn't see this as a fight for any dominance, just something to get an orgasm for them both.  
  
  
It was like getting everything he wanted out of a partner without the implications to his pride and masculinity because it wasn't _on purpose_. He could enjoy it without Castiel ever knowing. To him it made sense, anyway.  
  
  
Really, at first he'd been drunk and worn out from a job and wanted to fool around and something about Castiel being so frustratingly innocent at that moment of weakness was so unbelievably arousing to him. He'd had the nickname 'Virgin Slayer' in highschool and he always notched it on his belt that his profession had been ruining every man there-after for every good girl he slept with. They were a lot of fun, always so impressed by every single thing, and really the most damn freaky. He had a bit of an ego back then (that's all it was, really), and these days he preferred more seasoned women with experience. But his secret long-ago kink was virgins and if there was a _good boy_ he knew, it was fuckin' Castiel, the millennium-plus year old angel.  
And Cas, God damn him, let him take him to bed because Castiel felt like he loved him. Stupid, _stupid_ angel.  
  
  
Either way, he knew now he should have taken the hint from Gabriel and Balthazar that when angels dabbled in human sex, they couldn't get _enough_ of it; he was just lucky at how naïve or prude Cas was because angels were apparently kinky sons-of-bitches and he wasn't sure how willing he'd be to _experiment_ with him. Regardless, Castiel was ensuring Dean got laid several times a week. He was certain it'd be several times a day every day if the both of them could afford it, but you know, that whole world-perpetually-ending thing was kind of a big cockblocker. Not to mention the whole 'only human' thing as well.  
  
  
  
The hunter was gazing up at the angel perched astride his lap when Castiel leaned back, fingers glistening with saliva. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat from the effort as warm wet fingers wrapped around his hardening dick. He just couldn't help himself. The pad of a moist thumb trailed the hard line of his shaft, following the swelling veins as the apex of his thighs began to throb with the familiar beginnings of that proverbial emergency alarm for impending release. Castiel teased him with criminally long deft fingers, short strokes and long strokes, dancing light pads of fingertips at the rosy tip and making his toes curl. It was so unfair. This all knowing, all powerful, ancient bastard toying with his little human plaything. If Dean was capable of thinking with the proper head, he might jab Cas for playing his easy basic human instincts like a fiddle.  
  
  
There was something unfairly cosmic about Castiel's _touch_. Dean was certain the angel was _doing_ something intangible to him and his senses, whether accidentally or intentional. The touch felt like any other, but the way it made him _feel_ , from a kiss on the neck to a hand on his shoulder; or the fleeting accidental contact of fingertips, Castiel was like a nuclear chemical disrupting all his signals and pulses like he was nothing more than an ant on a pheromone trail. Half the time it was frustrating. The other half, it was completely maddening.  
  
  
Dean groaned, a pained sound from being caught between a rock and a hard place as he felt Castiel's lips on his sensitive neck, at his quickened pulse. They lingered there, faintly parted with the flush of warm damp breath, taking those precious moments to feel Dean's fervent fluttering heartbeat, and his stomach sank with anxiety as he heard Sam snoring in the next room; capable of waking up and wandering to bed at any moment, but when Castiel closed those deceptively soft lips over his pulse entirely, letting him feel just the lightest graze of teeth, he was well on his way to saying _fuck it_ and hoping for the best.  
  
Cas was taking his time. He always did at first, idolizing the details of what made Dean human. Feeling his pulse, listening to his breath, being _weird_ and smelling his neck and hair with deep deliberate breaths, surely listing off in his brain a fully calculated panel - everything from the Zinc levels in his body to his Magnesium and the Carbon Dioxide in his bloodstream, and which synapses of neurons were traveling from his temporal lobe to his frontal lobe, et cetera. Castiel was fascinated, in awe of the humanity of him. Had gone so far as to call him _marvelous_ , and _beautiful_. Dean had to admit that being called 'Such a miraculous creation by God' was strange as fuck sweet talk.  
  
It worked on him though, dammit. He was shivering pathetically as Castiel whispered something in his ear, something that sounded vaguely similar to, ' _Your scent is impeccable... evergreen and earth... barley and gasoline_.' It was astounding to Dean. Cas was able to pick up from just the surface of his skin the smell of the barley from the beer he drank earlier, the pine air freshener in the Impala, the dirt and grime from the day, and the trip to the gas station to fill his baby up this _morning_.

  
Jesus, Cas' pillow talk was so bizarre and sexy. Dean was ready to throw his hands up and yell. He was certainly having a hard time thinking cognitively now.

Those perfect enamels pressed again a bit harder against his throat till he began to feel a dull aching throb and Cas' free hand ascended his bare flank, fingers making the climb up his lean frame to find the short cropped blonde tresses atop his crown. He raked through them, disheveling them further as his tongue swiped back and forth over the pinched bruising flesh caught between his incisors. Dean arched - his spine bowing inward as he made a strangled sound and his hands anchored onto Castiel's razor sharp jutting hip bones, blunt nails digging in and leaving pink scrapes. That mouth released his hot wet skin and whispered a soft ' _Shhh_...' against the shell of his ear, reminding _him_ to be quiet.  
  
  
' _Smartass angel._ '  
  
  
Dean grabbed him forward with a hand at his tailbone, hard enough to bruise any normal man. Cas' button-down Oxford and haphazard blue silk tie were pressed against his chest and abs, his fully swollen cock brushing against his skin, hard and heavy. " _Fine, you win_ ," Dean breathed between them, his voice frayed and rough, and impatient. "But you're on fucking damage control duty."  
  
  
The hunter was hardly a prude himself; Sammy had walked in on him and women before, and it'd been quite frankly hilarious at the time. In their younger years, he was sure he'd adequately traumatized his little brother into the next century from overhearing him with one night stands. It wasn't that he was necessarily _ashamed_ of doing the nasty with another dude, but this was _Cas_. And Sam would have only way too much to say lecture-wise to him on a variety of how dysfunctional that clusterfuck could only begin to be. So the last thing he wanted was to introduce the whole conversation of 'So me an' Cas got this whole... _friends with benefits_ thing goin' on and I dunno man he says he _loves_ me but that can't be, I think he's gotta have something wrong with him and honestly my dick is exhausted' to Sam by him catching them fucking. Haha - no.  
  
  
Cas' parted lips were resting gently against his temple as he spoke and he heard that resonant tenor close to his ear, " _Of course, Dean_ ," the angel nearly _purred_ \- Jesus fuck - in compliant obedience as he began to unbutton his shirt so it was open and loose down the length of his frame. Dean's fingers were already on the lean exposed skin of his flat belly, coasting over the dips and grooves of his thin ribcage and tight muscles. His hands swept around him, encircling his narrow waist as his mouth and dark blonde stubble grazed a thin collarbone. The normally stoic angel quaked, a very subtle uncontrolled movement. His spine rolled inward, crushing himself to Dean's form as muscular callused hands roamed his sides and his lips kissed the rough shave of Dean's sideburn, across high freckled cheek bones and warming his dark fringed lashes with a chaste breath.  
  
  
Dean groped blindly for the small bottle of lubricant, clasping it in his fingers  as he sank his teeth into the skin just above that delicate collarbone. The skin turned red in incisor-shaped grooves as Castiel's jaw clenched from the brief splintering spark of pain.  
  
He'd have to make this quick. No foreplay.  
  
Dean's thumb flicked the cap of the gel and none-too-gracefully, turned it up and poured it with a generous squeeze over his now thoroughly upstanding and straining cock between them. He tossed the bottle aside, it landing somewhere on the floor beneath Sam's vacant bed. Pumping the ring of his fist over his shaft to coat himself entirely, he then released the bruised flesh from between his teeth, passing a glance at it as it already began to heal. He bent his head back to nibble along Cas' stubbled jawline as he gripped his slim hips and hefted him up higher on his knees, angled above his cock.  
  
  
Castiel draped his arms criss-crossed around his neck, long fingers reaching up to curl into his messy dark blonde hair, clenching tresses between his knuckles as he bent his head to kiss his hairline as Dean breathed rough and unsteady against his throat, his body responding to Cas without missing a beat the _second_ he gave in and stopped being stubborn. Cas felt the slick brushes of the head of that rigid shaft sliding wet and sticky against his opening, making him slick as Dean guided it with his thumb. When his other hand idling on Cas' hip pressed downward to urge him when he'd lined up to him, the seraph's thighs parted further and he lowered himself onto him. His raven lashes were closed as he moved slowly, brows faintly drawing in concentration. For the most part save for a wince and tightening flex of muscles, he ignored the initial discomfort of his vessel as his muscles stretched to accommodate the familiarity of Dean's swollen girth, cinched suffocatingly tight around the circumference of him. Dean's jaw was slack with a trembling gasp before he grit his molars with a hoarse growl as Cas' warm body accepted his intrusion down to the hilt. Castiel shifted once they were locked at the base, muscles tightening in a pump through his entire body before he relaxed, getting comfortable as Dean adjusted.  
  
  
" _Cas_ ," Dean grunted, mouth dry as his shaft throbbed with his heartbeat, painful and yearning. The angel leaned back some, lashes heavy and shaded eyes subdued as he clasped both of his palms to either side of Dean's face, thumbs soft beneath his lower eyelashes. Those green eyes were foggy as he held that gaze, infinity in mere moments where they simply lost each other in that habitual silent fixation. Dean didn't blink away from the stormy oceans of blue as Castiel held him and then, so utterly careful and slow, began to rock in his lap once Dean was ready. His hips tilted and crested, a steady rolling tide as slick inner walls like velvet covered steel constricted and milked the inches of Dean's aching erection. Castiel took it slow to work him up - undulating with all the elegantly paced rhythm of a ballroom dancer, slow and steady as his thumbs softly, if not adoringly, stroked beneath those hazy green eyes, watching the sparks of pleasure in them. He bent his head to kiss Dean's forehead as the hunters' lashes fell closed and he choked back a struggling gasp.  
  
  
Dean's heels dug into the bedding for any sort of traction as his body jerked, involuntary at first. He bucked to meet him as Castiel's movements began to too-gradually increase in pace and depth to supply the unspoken demand of Dean's body. He rocked his pelvis just right to torment him, to work against his own internal pleasure button. Precum leaked from the head of his cock, streaking Dean's tanned abs with threads of glisten.  
  
  
" _Faster_ ," he heard the green eyed hunter plead beneath him after a few agonizing minutes of this, forsaking pride for that split second. Dean's entire body was already a bottled thunderstorm, snapping lightning beneath the skin as his blood became battery acid in his veins. Castiel ignited him when he gave into it. His gaze seared him right to the core. His body was so fucking graceful, moving atop him like the gentle tossing and lapping waves beneath a ship's hull and Dean's soul starved for chaos. Castiel grabbed his loose thread and pulled, unraveling him at the seams rather than simply ripping him apart, and he couldn't _take_ it.  
  
  
Blunt nails raked into Cas' hips till blood beaded beneath them, dark and coppery as Castiel lowered the hunter back down against the bed, flat on his back beneath him. A callused hand twisted into his unbuttoned shirt, balling it and dragging it haphazardly skew aloft the angel's narrow shoulders as Cas leaned over him. He heard unseen feathers brushing against each other, adjusting into a different position as Castiel squared his knees around Dean's pelvis for better leverage. His arms slid around his shoulders, clutching the hunter up to his rising and falling chest as Dean panted against his breast as quietly as he possibly could in that dark drafty motel room, burying his face against the angel's skin that smelled vaguely of nutmeg and summer rain.  
His hands coasted up his back, beneath the curves of his shoulderblades. The seraph made a strange, almost inhuman sound as he scratched the soft skin, undoubtedly the roots of those massive wings his human eyes couldn't see. Threads of precum leaked from Cas' dick onto the skin just beneath his navel and he quaked from those kneading fingers. He heard feathers rustling as Cas rasped out a _whimper._ Christ.  
  
  
The angel began to buck his nimble hips in a perfect lethal crescendo, falling and pistoning again along the length of Dean's leaking shaft inside of him. His abs tightened and loosened, hips tilting and pivoting as he rode Dean's pelvis, grinding his own erection against the sprinkle of dark blonde hair that made up the hunters' treasure trail. His biceps flexed as he crushed Dean to him, lips faintly parted against the other man's hair in a breathy open-mouthed kiss, whispering something to him in that rough baritone that he couldn't quite understand. Something undoubtedly in his mother tongue - he often did sweet talk him in Enochian, but God literally only knew what he was saying.

The bed began to squeak softly at first as Dean winced and grit his teeth, bones popping from just how hard Castiel was clutching him, bruising him, and his nails drew small beads in little half-moons of scarlet on his sensitive shoulderblades in response. The seraph moaned, hoarse and throaty as he notched his hips just right on the retraction and the head of Dean's cock brushed that sweet spot, making his cock leap and drag thickening precum across Dean's skin between them.  
  
Within minutes there was an odd, noticeable electrical current in the air - a distinct hum. Being this close to an angel getting swallowed in the throes of passion was like standing inside an electric power grid, and probably just as dangerous.

But Dean lived for that kinda thing, didn't he?  
  
  
Castiel's whole body was moving now, pumping his hips rapidly in Dean's thrusting lap once the hunter brought his knees up to get the right angle, and they began to meet harder with the cracking, stinging friction of skin on skin. Dean's brow began to glisten from the heat, both inside and out as arms unraveled from around the hunter to let him _breathe_ and Cas anchored his hands firmly onto both of his shoulders that were beginning to become damp with sweat, fingertips digging deep into the muscle tissue till the flesh began to turn black and blue. The seraph straightened up above him with tousled dark hair in messy curls against his forehead. His movements were slowly beginning to lose their agile grace and nearly mathematically perfect pace and velocity. Castiel was becoming erratic.  
  
  
The hunter caught his own full bottom lip between white enamels, arching underneath him as Castiel's muscles clenched his shaft with every spasm of quaking muscles that ran down the length of him, sending his entire nervous system into a fit. Hands raked down his collar to his bare tightened breasts, fingers clawing the skin lightly dusted in freckles, striping it in red streaks. The headboard of the bed began to thump with the rhythm against the wall and Dean reached up to press his hands against it, blunt nails digging against the mahogany, because really there's not a whole fucking lot you can _do_ to hold onto Earth when there's a celestial being riding you. He was seeing _stars_ behind his eyelids, constellations shattering into thousands of tiny fragments as shockwaves traveled his nerves every time he met Cas' pace and filled him to the hilt.  There was static on his lips and water in his lungs, and a humming and ringing in his ears, either coming from inside his rattled brain or coming from Castiel, he couldn't be sure.  
  
  
He heard the angel make a sudden gasp, a curt ' _Ah_!' when Dean bucked up into him at just the right spot, deeply enough to throw off his balance and pace with a resounding crack of skin. He dug fingers against Dean's ribcage with almost enough pressure per square inch to snap one of the bones and the hunter swore more loudly than he intended, banding a strong arm tight around Castiel's trembling narrow waist and throwing him onto the bed, rolling to pin him on his back and never once breaking their connection. There was a loud _pop_ next to them of the alarm clock short circuiting, crackling and releasing a curl of smoke into the air from a scorched circuit board.  
  
  
" _It's okay, it's okay. Shhh, dammit_." Dean whispered hoarsely before he closed his mouth over the angel's own to muffle the rasping sounds that were coming out of the both of them. Cas was floundering, gasping and writhing underneath him as he bucked in between those legs that wrapped tightly around his hips. He was angling his hips, deliberately aiming to hit him right where it'd unravel the often reserved angel. Hands were grabbing him, clawing him, and he only just barely managed to fight those wrists down, pinning them with his biceps locked in a permanent flex. It was like trying to hold down a man four times his strength - even Castiel's little twists and jerks were immeasurably strong. There was a soft _whoosh_ as unseen wings folded over him, enclosing around him. It was something he was used to by now, and he'd gotten to where he could sense them, almost the same way if he could 'feel' someone standing behind him or near him. Mostly it was the way their shared breath became more heated and claustrophobic, the way his hearing became muffled, as if someone tossed a blanket over the two of them.  
  
  
The springs squeaked in adamant noisy protest as he drilled Cas into the mattress with the extent of his human strength, his pelvis thrusting with the reiteration of a jackhammer, sticky sweat dripping from the scruff of his jaw as he broke the heated and clumsy connection of their hungry and bruised lips. Castiel immediately buried his face into the crook of his fevered neck, panting and tasting the salt and minerals of that sweat as Dean released one of his wrists to dig his knuckles into the bedding for leverage, bench-pressing himself up above him. Cas' free hand rested against Dean's damp and bruised rib cage, slicking down the sinewy length of him to grab onto his narrow hip as he hiked his thighs up around him higher, forcing him deeper into the yielding entrance of his shuddering body. He arched, almost to an inhuman degree off the bed - he was so fucking flexible it was scary - like a perfectly taut archers bow ready to fire. Dean nearly convulsed. " _Son of a bitch_ , Cas," he growled helplessly against the seraph's mussed dark hair, damn near a whimper of his own.  
  
  
That ringing was louder now. Sam was probably wide awake at this point rocking himself traumatized in a corner, but that couldn't have been further from Dean's mind right then. There were only so many things he could process, and first and foremost was that Castiel was coming, and he was coming _fast_. The angel's jaw fell slack against his neck, and out of some cognitive function he had left presumably, he locked teeth onto Dean's sweaty throat to muffle his own cry, very nearly like a lion giving a death bite to a hopeless gazelle. For a moment, Dean couldn't _breathe_. Castiel growled low against his throat, a strange sound that was neither animal nor human, his thighs tightening hard enough around him that all movement was stifled instantly. His entire body seized up as, for one glorious, spatial moment, his infinite mind went numb, and his body was ignited with endorphins and ecstasy, white hot volts traveling the network of his entire nervous system.

  
The single most incredible, purely human experience.  
  
  
Dean's elbow trembled before he buckled down on top of the angel clinging to him with all arms and legs, blunt nails cutting him open and brute, uncontrolled force leaving bruises over his bones. There was another series of pops and sizzles from random electrical equipment; the AC, an outlet in the wall, the air crackling as if there was the presage of searing lightning _right next to him_ and he felt his abs become streaked in hot ribbons of Castiel's seed. His head was throbbing from the deathlock of jaws over his Adam's apple and lack of oxygen, the pressure making it hard for him to suck air into his windpipe. Dean's fingers groped the headboard, holding onto it as Castiel trembled and came again and again between them. He felt his slick cock hard and hot against his belly, wet and dripping with cum as his inner muscles convulsed and milked him till he saw white and his ears were ringing from the spasms around his throbbing dick. Castiel was getting better with controlling himself when it came to sex, but he was certain one of these days he was going to seriously hurt him.

  
And it'd probably be worth it, because there was nothing out there that was quite as spectacular as this.  
  
  
Dean emptied inside him, unable to help it, locked at the hilt and pumping him to the brim till his own cum leaked around their connection. Castiel released his throat with a gasp, laving it hungrily with his tongue over the ring of red and purple marks on his larynx as Dean heaved air and saw spots. His arms came up around his broad shoulders, enfolding him in immediately as Dean was rocked viciously by the cresting waves of his own mind numbing orgasm and Cas felt the heat of his seed as Dean filled him.

He came so hard he went momentarily _deaf_ \- nope, nothing as spectacular as this. The blue-eyed angel kissed across his mouth and jaw, then his sweaty forehead as Dean let the entirety of his weight finally settle atop the other man's heaving and breathless form. Everything hurt like fuck and it was great.  
  
  
They stayed like that for several minutes, sharing panted gulps of air. Castiel's fingers raked through Dean's messy and damp cropped blonde hair, gripping the tresses gently between his knuckles, then touching his jaw and his neck. He listened to the sound of the human's rapid firing heartbeat - a tempo in his ears, drunk off the thick perfume of his earthy pheromones. His lips tasted his sweaty temple, a long list of hormones sketching across the peripherals of his mind as he tasted and smelled them while he stretched out beneath the heavy muscled form of the hunter. The tips of his fingers glided up the length of Dean's taut forearm and bicep before gently resting on his own handprint etched into the other man's skin as Dean lifted his head to gaze down at him with a drunken grin. The angel's eyes had an odd, but familiar faintly blue luminescence to them that was steadily fading.  
  
  
"Heh. Well, hallelujah. You feel better then, babe?" he asked in the hot shared breath between them and Castiel gently squeezed his shoulder, leaning up the half inch to kiss Dean, much more lightly than before, feeling the feather soft flush of breath against his teeth and tongue before Dean brought his arm up to cradle the side of Cas' face, thumb brushing the scruff of his jawline. They shared soft, damp kisses, gently bumping their noses together. Purely intoxicated affection.  
  
  
" _Mmm.. I'll take that as a yes_." He gave him one more kiss and rested their foreheads together for a moment. Normally they would have at least a couple of rounds. Dean certainly had enough stamina to go more than once, but with Sammy being in the next room, he didn't want to push their luck. So he forced himself up with a groan, resting a hand on Castiel's hip to carefully pull himself out of him, despite how badly he'd have liked to stay right there. The seraph's jaws clenched briefly from the uncomfortable emptiness before Dean collapsed on his back next to him, tugging Cas' forearm to lure him over so he was half draped across him. The angel propped himself up slightly, kissing a line across his scratched chest as Dean contented himself with softly running his fingers through his messy hair while they both came down from the high.

  
Damn Cas. Didn't even break a sweat. He smirked. Not that Cas ever really _did_. Those still clouded stormy blue eyes were studying him in the dark quiet between them for a few beats, watching Dean who was in turn watching him. "What're you thinking about?" he asked, his normal rough tone somehow even scratchier than usual, though still soft and hushed.  
  
  
Dean paused in idly twisting a lock of dark chocolate hair around his finger, cocking his head at the other man. "You can read my mind, can't you?" the blonde asked, sweat dampened brow arched.  
  
  
"If I choose to. I prefer to ask."  
  
Dean chuckled and kissed his cheek, that despite the lack of perspiration, was at least slightly flushed and rosy. "Nothin', babydoll. Just figured you'd gotten better about not blowin' shit up, how am I gonna explain  the smell of smoke and burnt rubber and broken stuff to Sammy?"  
  
Castiel eyed him with that perplexed habitual little narrowed squint. _Babydoll_? He was hardly a children's toy. Must be a - what is it called - _petname_. "Ah - I... don't think the appliances will be a concern. He's aware. I can hear him  talking to himself in the other room." He was quiet for a moment while Dean looked briefly horrified. "What?" Well, he couldn't say he was surprised. 'Quiet' for them still resulted in shit combusting and something getting broken, at the very least.

  
Cas seemed to be keening his hearing. "He's practicing different ways to approach you. He doesn't sound angry - maybe nauseous."  
  
"Awesome." Dean gently nudged Castiel off himself so he could slowly, and all too carefully push himself upright, gritting his teeth and wincing. His thighs and hips were already turning purple, as were his ribs and shoulders and neck. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and managed to push himself to stand, his knees still feeling like jelly. "So much for cuddling for a damn minute," he groused as he made his way to the night stand, gathering up Castiel's clothes along the way to hand to him.  
  
"Do you need me to-..." Cas began, frowning at the multicolored splotches on the hunters' tanned skin. "I'm sorry, Dean."  
Dean only waved him off. "Nah, I'm alright. I'm gonna shower and... I guess talk to Sam." He paused, taking note of his own rasp. He rubbed the throbbing bite mark at the center of his throat. "I don't like keeping stuff from him anyway, and it'd be nice not to have to do this sneaking around bullshit or trying to... _be quiet_. Be quiet my ass. Not you, birdy."

He glanced at the other man, pursing his kiss-bruised lips. "And this is starting to seem kind of... long term to me, don't you think?" He wasn't exactly good with _wording_ things, but what he was trying to say was _this isn't just about sex_. They both knew that. Of course they did.  
When Dean was with Castiel, when the angel _looked_ at him and touched him... it shouldn't make him feel the way it did, not if it was just "friends with benefits."

  
  
The angel nodded. "I understand." However, he was taking his cue to go and was buttoning up his shirt once he fixed its skew position aloft his shoulders. Dean watched him for a moment longer as he angel mojo'd the sweat and grime of sex off himself. One minute he had jizz halfway up his abdomen and was streaked in Dean's own sweat and scratches, the next - poof. Clean and brand new, not a blemish on him. He snorted indignantly. "One of these days, you gotta let me leave a mark on you. Somethin-," he complained as he was gathering himself some clean clothes from his tote. "Something that... you know, says you're mine, too." It really griped his ass how Castiel had left all these little marks on him, the _evidence_ of him - the scar on his bicep alone proof of some unspoken level of _mine_ -ness.  
  
But when he turned back around again, Castiel was gone. Simply gone. As always. The only proof he'd even been there was the forgotten bottle of lube and a new dent in the wall behind the headboard. That and the rumpled sheets of course. He blinked at his vacant bed a few times before he gave the wall a good, exasperated bang with his forehead, sighing  before he made his way to the bathroom.

  
  


" _Dear_ Castiel, your fucking exiting needs work too - way to give me back up with Sam by the way, jackass. Amen."


End file.
